Rumors, Novel, and Narrative

I may have put the cart in front of the donkey, the problem is, as a writer I'm still a donkey. But would you rather start off a story with a "Hot Chic," or a skinny girl flat in all the wrong places.

Monday morning, a rumor was spreading, but "School policy prohibited the use of their names. But everyone knew it was Pablo and me. Calling it, “Splendor in the Grass," I believe Betty may have had a part in that. Pablo was too much of a gentleman to listen to rumors. But he needed to know that my dad took away my dating privileges, not for the rest of the year, but until I graduated. He didn't consider it a problem, as school and work took a lot of his time.

Amazing thing after the rumor started, Pablo became friends with Brad. I couldn’t understand why. Later I found out that in the boys’ gym, Brad congratulated Pablo for being the type of guy who could win my heart and told him not to believe rumors. Brad said to him he had been the victim of vicious rumors, while true, those rumors were more like “Fake” news.

At school, I didn't have to avoid Brad; my heart belonged to Pablo. But I liked talking to that sleaze bag. He had ruined my reputation; I trashed what remained. But things were good. The guy I loved would do anything for me, and I’m still allowed to go out with the "Masa Harina Babies" to shop or see a movie. Shopping sprees that took place when Pablo did not have to work.

My dad had smiled when he heard the rumor on Friday when Mr. Norris made him aware of what happened. It reminded him of the kiss I gave him when I was in grammar school, and he was my teacher—a kiss that resulted in a meeting with my mom, and them getting married. “You’re a lucky geek Pablo,” he said to himself. He would have to give Pablo the thumbs up next time he sees him.

Dad knew there might be problems, called the Principal, and they met. My dad told him, “This is going nowhere.” Dad knew how to play “hardball,” he had been a State Senator before he returned to teaching. The Principal agreed, it was two students practicing first aid. It was not a kiss. There was no need for discipline. I knew the Principal well, I had been to his house many times while dating Brad, his son, and he liked me. He also liked my dad because he was very reasonable. When Brad had bragged about what we did, in the boys’ gym, he had called my father to apologize, said his son was a rascal. He wanted to know how Brad, his son, should be punished. He liked my dad’s response, “Were we any different. Brad is a good boy.”

My father did not have the heart to punish me because what I did made him smile. He settled on “grounding me” until I graduated. It sounded severe but was symbolic because he knew what us “Masa Harina Babies” did on our group outings. It would impress the parents of my friends who are strict.

At the minimum, he expected me to be angry, throw a tantrum, just to make him feel he had done his job as a father. But I was happy, I was in love, and Pablo loved me, I could stop acting like a “hot chic” and think in terms of learning to be a good housemaker. Besides, Pablo was too busy to date, and when he didn’t have to work, there was always the “Masa Harina Babies” night out, which was not considered dating.

My dad was furious because I’m happy, Grounding” is punishment; I was not supposed to be happy. He added washing dishes after dinner to my punishment, but that went nowhere. All I had to do was load them in the dishwasher. Before he could think of any more punishments, I started helping my mom in the kitchen, helped her clean house, and began looking for a part-time job. I told my parents I wanted to be a housewife first. Going to a University, despite my good grades, is not what I want. I plan to attend the local Junior College so that I can be close to home, and Mom can teach me how to be a good housewife. It upset Dad, but Mom was happy.

If you want to know how my dad, Macario, returned to teaching and met my mom, you can read the novel that Dr. Alonzo started but has not finished. It only goes up to when he met my mother and they married. He told me about it at one of my appointments. Thinks my dad should run for office again once all his children have graduated from college. This way, my mom, Dulce, can be part of the adventure instead of at home alone taking care of children. He includes Macario Jr. and me, as his children, despite his son not wanting to be with him.

The Novel by Dr. Alonzo. Rough draft, unfinished, in progress.

Macario drags himself out of bed and to the bathroom, and when he washes his hands, he looks at himself in the mirror. Now State Senator Macario, the thought brings a smile to his face. But notices his hair is getting a little white on the sides and can see a few wrinkles. Then he looks down at his belly. It’s starting to get soft and appears a little bigger. He can see what is waiting for him if he doesn't control himself at the fundraisers and the late-night strategy sessions with the coffee and donuts. Not to mention those nights spent drinking until the early hours with his staunchest supporters. The ones that would abandon him if he couldn’t win. But the price of his success has been high; it cost him his wife and child, Macario Jr. His wife couldn’t take it anymore and divorced him when he was still a State Representative on his way up.

After a quick shower, he calls his office. Tells them he is going to walk to the office, stop for coffee, and shouldn’t be in too late. He must do something about his belly—steps out of his apartment; there is a chill in the air. Summer has just ended, he thinks, isn’t sure, too busy with his election. He should have worn his overcoat but is confident the day will get warm. At least he believes there are a few days left of warm weather before the cold set in, and the trees start to lose their leaves. It was not the weather that’s cold, wonders if the problem isn't, drops the thought, but it creeps up again and will not let him go. His wife, his former wife, has called him "cold" on more than one occasion since the divorce.

Mulling over the word "cold" as he briskly walks toward his office, unable to arrive at a reason his former wife would say he is cold. He pays his child support and makes sure she needs nothing. But when was the last time he saw his son, he can’t remember? Why? It brings back too much pain. Remembers a little boy hiding behind his mother, not wanting to get close to him. A tear makes its way down his cheek, which he dismisses, blames it on the cold.

A block away, he sees his favorite coffee shop. The coffee is a little too strong, but over the years he has come to like it. Gone are the days when his coffee was mild and brewed with a hint of cinnamon. So are the beans, rice, and soft, warm tortillas, replaced with steak and eggs, and toast. The tear dries up, and he starts to think happy thoughts. Thoughts that take him back to when he was young and poor. The summers were long and hard, but they left good memories. He picked crops in Gilroy, going as far as San Jose to pick apricots and plums on Mt. Hamilton. Where you could look down on the town of San Jose, there was always a fresh breeze blowing. You stayed in a tent on the farm, but it was like camping, just like the rich kids.

He picks up his pace; he can catch Dr. Alonzo at the coffee shop if he hurries. He knows he has breakfast there when he is in town. They talked earlier in the week, knows he is in town for a few days, at some conference, wonders who he brought this time, his secretary or that gorgeous girl he met while out of town. The one that cost him his marriage.

He enters the coffee shop, and greets his friend with, “I don’t believe it, where is the girlfriend, or secretary?

“I had to give that up, not good for my health, and I started eating this organic stuff, not all that bad. Sit down; you don’t look well. You look like you need a doctor. I can spare an hour, what’s wrong, the job not agreeing with you?” asks Dr. Alonzo.

“I made a deal with the wrong people; I have everything I thought I wanted. To be in a position where I could make a difference, but it is bad. When I was a teacher in Gilroy, I was happy, had my son, my wife, who I still love, and all those wonderful students I was teaching. I was making a difference, thought I could do more, but it’s gone bad. All I do is get drunk, wake up in the morning and make deals with guys that have money. I’m owned,” replies Macario.

“This was a special election? It is only to fill out a term. Give it up. I’m sure they have someone else if you don’t meet their expectations. Go back; I’m sure the schools in Gilroy would love to have you back, you can also teach a class in politics at the Junior College," Dr. Alonzo advises him.

Two years later, he is teaching again, but his ex-wife has told him there is no going back. She has found someone else, and they are making plans to get married. It will be a few years before she does remarry, but she has found her love, and there is no going back. Mr. Macario will find someone who he loves and remarry before his first wife. But for now, he is sad, but finds joy in his work and teaches a political science class that Dr. Alonzo told him he should.

The bell rang, and it was time for roll call, when he gets to Toni, he asks her, “Are we going to a party, after class?

A boy who sits in the back of the class yells, “She always dresses like that,” and laughs.

He tells this student, I don’t know who your teacher was last year, but in this classroom, the only time you are allowed to speak is when you raise your hand, and I give you permission. The class went quiet. They know there will be no fooling around like last year. When class was over, the young skinny girl in the party dress went up to his desk, raised her hand, and he said, “How can I help you?”

“Can I whisper in your ear.”

“Yes,” he replied.

In his ear, the little girl told him, “He is a bad boy, thank you,” then kisses him on the cheek.

Macario is in shock; this was not good for his career as a teacher if it came out the wrong way, so he asks, “Toni, does your mother pick you up.”

“Yes,” Toni replies.

I need to talk to her when she comes to pick you up, can you tell her I need to speak to her.”

A few minutes later, an attractive lady walks into his class with Toni while he is grading papers. Toni introduces them, “Mom, this is Mr. Macario, my teacher, and Mr. Macario, this is my mom, and her name is Dulce.” When Toni was thru with the introductions, she asked her mom, “Can we invite him for dinner.”

Dulce blushed, and told Toni, “He probably has plans.”

“No, I don’t, I’m also divorced, and perhaps your home might be a better place to discuss what I need to talk to you about.”

Dinner was terrific, something Macario missed, home-cooked meals. He told Dulce about his past political positions and how they led to his being divorced. That it was not something he wanted, but by the time he made the corrections in his career. It was too late. Then told her about the kiss, and she needed to know what happened, should a rumor start. He apologized for what happened.

Dulce just smiled, “My daughter likes you, but I like your honesty, you took responsibility for your marriage going bad. I stopped dating because I ran into men who blame the ex-wife for everything, are not serious. I wish I could meet someone like you.”

“You have,” replied Macario.

On their first date, a going out date, he asked Dulce, “Can Toni come with us.” The ring was in his pocket, after many invitations to home-cooked dinners, he was in love. It was a fun day in Monterey, on their way back to Gilroy, he took a road that led to a small park overlooking the sea, there were tables and benches. Toni knew what he was going to do; he had asked his young student for permission to become part of her family. When they got off the car and walked to the table, he stopped, got on one knee, and asked her, “I have loved you from the first day I met you, will you marry me?”

“Yes, Yes, I will,” replied Dulce. “Me too, I want you to be my father,” yelled Toni.

Kisses followed, afterward, he went to his car to get a picnic basket from his car, and they had dinner and watched the sunset. They got home late, Dulce asked him to spend the night. In the morning, he got up to eggs, rice, and beans and coffee with a little cinnamon. He never left, and to avoid rumors, a quick marriage followed with a few close friends invited. It all started with a kiss.

Toni’s narrative

There is more; I kept a narrative of what was taking place. Dr. Alonzo said it was vital that I understand what was taking place. Like when a chess player records his moves so that he can analyze them later. It would help me understand why I wanted to be a “hot chic.”

In my freshman year of high school, my dad told my mom, girls now wear boys’ jeans and t-shirts. But I was flat in all the wrong places. Something, frilly dresses hid. My dad asked the school nurse if there might be something wrong. She noticed something others overlooked. My school records from grammar school said, “male.” I was so ashamed, at least until I went to an appointment with Dr. Alonzo. Talk about the rumors going on in school.

Dr. Alonzo ran some tests and examined me. Broke out laughing, could not believe a mistake had gone on for so long. Someone erred, wrote “male instead of female,” he checked back to original records, and it appears the letters were fuzzy, printer probably needed ink, and they were too busy drinking coffee to notice the mistake. He told me this before he started to laugh so as not to shock me. But I did have health issues; one of them was my diet. Too much “junk food.” He changed my diet, organic food only and vitamins, I bloomed.

In my sophomore year, I was one “hot chic” dating Brad, the hottest guy in school. I could walk down the hallway of our school wearing my designer jeans, kick-ass cowboy boots designed especially for me, and a see-thru silk top. Mom was a spoiler and insisted I wear a cami underneath.

Brad was all hands; I didn’t complain until at the end of the year he was bragging that he had gone where no man had gone before. All lies. That sleaze bag ruined my reputation; his father, the Principal, had to call my dad and apologize for his son’s behavior. My reputation shot; I joined a small group of girls who dressed modestly, helped their parents, and were just too good to be true. My dad called us the “Masa Harina Babies.” We didn’t know what it meant at the time, but we liked how the name sounded.

I continued to see Dr. Alonzo; once a week, he had a picture of a young man on the wall of his office, and he would talk to me about him. Sometimes he had tears in his eyes that slowly made their way down his cheeks. But in talking to me, he figured out what else was wrong. Why I had nightmares and tried so hard to be a “hot chic.” It was someone he called my birth father, someone who had held me, and I had loved and was trying so hard to forget. I pushed him out of my mind, but he refused to leave; he was back there somewhere in my mind haunting me in my dreams because I missed him.

He told me I should cry not hold anything back, that adults make mistakes they grow to regret. While they may not cry, they too have tears. He knocked on his desk, I looked up at him, and he pointed to his tears. I learned his son would have nothing to do with him; he was once foolish, and his wife divorced him. I continue to see Dr. Alonzo, no longer once a week, now once a month. We talk about how I’m doing in school and his son, how much he misses him, and how he wished he would meet someone like me. He tells me his son is a little nerdy; some girls might describe him as a geek. How he only goes to school and works, I ask him, “No, girlfriend.”

He shook his head, “No.” “His mom tells me he is too busy going to school or working.” I could see the pain in his face.

Before I leave, I tell him, “If I’m lucky enough to meet your geeky son, I will give him a kiss he will not forget.”

He never sent a bill; dad said his friend told him long ago that talking was good therapy for both of us. I knew my dad had a son, who he called but he was never home, and his phone calls were never returned. The letters he wrote, always came back with a, “Return to Sender.” But his former wife, now remarried, sends him a photo of him once a year. He keeps the pictures in a book in his desk, keeps the most current in a frame which he hangs in his office, at our home. Like me, something from the past haunts him. Dr. Alonzo has told me, we should not forget those we have hurt and those we have loved.